


like granite in your birthday cake

by catpoop



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Kinda Crack, M/M, doctor virus, i love it, mentions of bondage, weird fucko trip, welter is just this really large cat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:43:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: Virus doesn't mean to be roped into this mess, but how can he resist Trip's vulgar personality and his bodacious cat?





	

**Author's Note:**

> *shrug*  
> enjoy?

Virus idles next to the gurney, watching his colleague stitch up the patient beside him and trying not to look too bored. He wonders if it’s polite to wander out of the room, seeing as he’s not actually there to do anything, when someone pops their head in and gestures at him.

“You’re needed in the A&E ward. Just something minor.”

He (professionally) skedaddles it out of there before anyone can raise a complaint.

‘Something minor’ is probably just someone getting a small burn or a concussion. Hopefully nothing too time-consuming, because he’d rather go back to loitering around the hospital. Or not. Sometimes Virus has to ask himself what exactly he’s doing here, and the only answer he can find is making a living. He tugs at the edge of his coat as he enters the emergency department and looks around for whoever had requested him. The lady at the reception waves in his direction.

If it weren’t for the nametag, he wouldn’t remember her name ( _Michiko_ ), and Virus watches as she points at a stockily-built young man with a shock of red hair sitting in one of the seats and explains his situation. Some sort of cut, obviously. He’s clutching a hand to his cheek, poorly stopping the flow of blood coming from underneath it. A drop of blood drips off his elbow and onto the floor and Virus nearly stomps over there and yanks the man to the nearest hospital bed. Instead, the receptionist calls him over and he dutifully follows Virus further into the building. Dressed in sweatpants and a strange spiky hoodie and walking with a bit of a slouch, the man is the complete opposite to Virus next to him. Virus conspicuously takes a step away from the figure beside him, but long legs quickly drag their owner back to his original position next to the blond. Virus tries not to elbow his patient away like he would a creep in a packed subway. 

Not that he’s really ever been a target for molesters – he just doesn’t like standing next to creeps. His violent urges return in full force at the drawl that slides out of the man’s mouth.

“Hey, I love your hair. Oh, and my name’s Trip – because y’know, people all trip over their feet when they see me? ‘Cause I’m that attractive?”

Virus doesn’t reply, except for a terse “Please sit down,” when he finally stops by an empty bed.

“Why do I need a bed? It’s not like I’ve gotta lie down just ‘cause my face’s all cut up.”

“Please sit.” Virus repeats.

Trip sits down, but not without bouncing up and down on the mattress a few times. Virus tries not to let the corner of his mouth twitch as he pulls on a pair of latex gloves.

“Can you tell me what the cause of your injury is?” He asks while pulling Trip’s hand away from his face and wiping down the bloody mess he’s made of his cheek and arm. The mess really would’ve been minimised if he’d thought about pressing a clean towel or something to his face. Virus quickly scrubs the last hints of red from his skin before turning his attention to the wound itself.

There’s a long, painful looking gash running from his right ear down to his mouth, its edges still beading up with blood. It looks bad, but not bad enough that Virus needs to sedate the loudmouth beside him and stitch his face up. Trip flinches when he cleans up the skin around the wound, exclaiming in pain at the stinging antiseptic solution. 

“Ow, fuck!”

Virus looks pointedly at the man still minutely bouncing up and down and fidgeting on the bed as he presses a length of gauze to the wound and waits for the blood to clot further. 

Trip points at his nametag. “Why’ve you got Virus written on that? Is that your name? Even though you’re a doctor?”

“That’s my name,” he replies, and Trip’s face crinkles in incomprehension.

“Oh yeah, anyway, so this guy threw a can lid at me. Y’know, with like sharp edges?”

 _His life seems a lot more interesting than mine,_ Virus thinks dryly. He disposes of the bloody gauze and checks the cut. Maybe a bit more antiseptic, because this man had his dubious hands clamped to the wound for far too long. An infection is the last thing either of them want, because then it means he’ll be seeing more of Trip. It seems shallow enough to not need stitches, and Virus secures a dressing on his face before ushering him out.

“Take these painkillers and antibiotics three times a day; change the dressing daily; and finally, don’t have any more can lid fights.” He puts everything in a nice little bag and firmly hands it to Trip, watching his fingers awkwardly close around the handle.

Trip stares at him with a gobsmacked expression and Virus rattles out the same instructions, albeit a tad slower.

“Wha – dressing? And I wasn’t having a can lid fight, the dude attacked me!”

“Dressing. The bandage and gauze on your face.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course. Haha.”

“See you, mister doctor,” Trips adds with a wink, before he exits into the lobby and Virus swallows the urge to push him outside.

It’s only after Trip disappears out of sight that Virus wonders if he should’ve kept him overnight just to help him change the dressing. The man didn’t look very competent in any sort of first aid. Hopefully the instructions on all the bits and pieces he’d handed him will be sufficient.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t see Trip in the next few days. If Virus is especially lucky, it’ll be because he’s busy nursing an infected wound at home, and will be back in the near future to bother him. At least none of the patients recently have been too much trouble, except for a few loud elderly people and one kid that couldn’t sit still. Reminded him of Trip, except the man was about three times larger.

\-----

Virus checks and then double checks the big bag of frozen mice he keeps in the freezer and realises it’s not so big anymore. Going out to buy Hersha’s food doesn’t rank very high on his list of enjoyable activities, so he manages to put off the chore until the bag has to be crumpled up and thrown into the bin. Even then, he waits until afternoon to change out of his comfortable loungewear and make the trip to the nearest pet store. Virus pats Hersha on the head in a sort of brief farewell and he hisses cutely. Aww.

The store is a fifteen minute bus ride away, and then another short walk down the road. The place doesn’t really cater to snakes, mostly selling toys and feed for cats and dogs. Virus skirts around the bird section to venture further into the store where the small selection of reptilian products are kept. There are all of two bags of mice in the miniature freezer, and he hefts one into his arms, grimacing at the bits of ice that melt onto his skin and the clammy plastic under his fingers. The quicker he pays and gets this into a more manoeuvrable bag, the better.

Virus is so intent on holding the bag in a way that minimises actually having to touch it, as well as trying not to trip over his own feet, that he doesn’t see the large figure in front of him until he actually collides with a warm back.

“Sor–”

His apology grinds to a halt when he looks up to see Trip staring at him. His surprised expression morphs into more of a smirk at the comical sight in front of him. This creases the cut on his cheek, still standing out in stark red. Surprisingly, it’s healed nicely, with no signs of infection. So he knew enough to be able to change the dressing and keep the wound clean – Virus has to admit he’s a little bit impressed. But Trip doesn’t seem at all concerned about his cut, instead pulling Virus’ attention back to their current situation.

“Hey! Mister doctor! What’s that you’ve got there?”

The first time they met, Virus had put on his professional façade the entire time. On this occasion, however…

“Mice. For my snake.” He says with a frown.

“I’ve got a snake right here too, y’know,” Trip stage-whispers conspiratorially, eyes darting downwards. To between his legs. Virus’ mouth twists in an unimpressed grimace and he tries to shoulder his way past the man and to the counter. His fingers are beginning to get a bit numb from the cold. But just as he takes a step away, Trip grabs him by the upper arm.

“Ah – wait, wait.” He picks up a bag of cat food before steering Virus towards the cashier. 

“You’re a doctor, yeah? So, I think my cat’s pregnant; I mean, she’s eating a whole lot and all.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You’re a doctor! So come take a look and tell me how long she’s gonna be pregnant until. Been ages already.”

Virus violently rolls his eyes.

“Look. I’m a doctor. For humans. Your cat – she’s clearly not human.” And he has zero knowledge about pregnancies, except for what little he remembers from high school.

He puts the bag of mice down on the counter with a heavy thud and the cashier cringes a little. Guess he’s not a big fan of frozen rodents, and Virus has to agree, even if he enjoys the adorable way Hersha stretches his jaw out and gobbles them down. The frozen tails unnerve him, especially.

Trip still hasn’t let go of his arm and he tugs at Virus like a child.

“C’moon, do it for my lil kitty’s sake, if not mine. What if she dies?!”

“I think you should take her to a vet,” Virus calmly replies, taking back the frozen mice, now in a sturdy plastic bag and less offensive to the eyes. “And I’d like to go home, please.”

“Jus’ wait a minute…” 

Trip fumbles around for his wallet as the cashier scans his bag of cat food, discreetly eyeing the chokehold he maintains on Virus’ arm. Meanwhile, Virus is busy deciding whether kneeing the man beside him in the balls is the right thing to do. He would’ve done so five minutes ago if it were anyone else, but for some reason, a part of him itches to see just what ludicrous things Trip is occupying his life with. Even if his very presence is a menace to put up with.

Strangely enough, Virus allows the man to closely follow him outside the store, and then to the nearest bus-stop, and – 

He tries to flag down the correct bus, but Trip drags him onto another. And he goes along without kicking or screaming. Or stabbing the switchblade in his pocket into Trip’s jugular. And then Trip starts to speak.

“Haha – yeah, this is okay, right? It’ll just be quick, and I can give you a ride back to wherever you live if you wanna.”

The weight of the switchblade sits reassuringly against Virus’ thigh and he frowns. “A ride? On what?” 

Trip laughs sheepishly as though just having remembered he’s riding on a bus. “Okay, maybe not then.”

He pauses for a moment to look at a bright red car zoom by, turning his head to follow it out of sight, before continuing.

“It’s gonna be quick, yeah? Don’t want your lil micey to melt.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Virus says, even as he imagines the meltwater freezing the mice into one big solid block and having to chip each individual mouse away. 

They get off the bus at a shabby looking set of apartment buildings, and Trip jogs up several flights of stairs, not waiting for Virus or his frozen baggage. Virus wrinkles his nose at the weird stains on the wall and the chipped tile under his feet but follows the maniac upstairs anyway. He’s already travelled this far, so why not have a look at the cat?

Trip’s flat is three floors up, and Virus puts down the bag with a loud thump the moment he steps inside the flat. He wipes his hands on his shirt as he looks around the place, seeing Trip squat down next to a monstrously large and fluffy black cat lounging on his sofa. But that’s not what catches his eye. Nor the mess of dishes and Tupperware in the open kitchen. To his left, in what Trip later informs him is the guest room, is a man, blindfolded and cuffed to the bed. Virus stares for a moment, at his vibrantly coloured hair, and at his naked body and sad-looking dick.

“Who’s that?” He asks Trip, who looks over from where he’s busy coddling his purring cat.

“Oh. Jus’ a friend.” He stands up and takes a step closer. “Say hi to the nice man, Aoba!”

Aoba doesn’t respond from where he’s lying on the bed and Trip shrugs apologetically.

“He’s kinda rude sometimes. Like when he threw that can lid at me. Tha’s why I tied his hands up, see?” He gestures the restraints securing the man to the head board and Virus has to admit that doesn’t look like a very comfortable position to fall asleep in. Would be a nightmare on the wrists.

This just proves that Trip isn’t good at catering to houseguests. Virus _would_ be concerned if it was a corpse strapped to the bed (because of the stench), but Aoba seems to be alive enough, so he doesn’t question the matter further. The sooner he looks at this cat and proves he knows nothing about animals, the better.

The cat frowns at him out of the fluffy mess that is its face and Virus has to admit it looks pretty pregnant, its body a solid rectangular mass that takes up most of a seat on the sofa. Trip reaches a hand out to touch his cat’s expanse of belly.

“Go on, see how squishy she is. I bet she’s preggers.”

The cat is indeed squishy, and doesn’t react to his touch. But Virus doesn’t really have experience in poking pregnant women or pregnant cats. He turns to see Trip expectantly looking at him and lets out a sigh.

“What if she’s just fat?”

Trip shrugs. “Could be preggers though.”

“I told you, I have no idea. Take her to a vet or something.”

Trip finally relents in his pointless venture to get Virus to inspect his cat and stands up, walking back towards the main entrance and into the guest room.

“I’ve got a carrier thingy in here I think …”

Virus follows him inside and sees a pile of junk beside the bed, a mix of broken electronics and dubious plastic bags full of things he can’t really make out. Trip is currently squatting in the corner of the room, loudly tossing about bits and pieces and triumphantly producing the pet carrier. If Virus were a cat, he wouldn’t want to step foot into that cage, let alone be locked inside for who knows how long. Trip shakes the dust out from inside and makes to carry it back outs, but the racket that he’s made seems to wake the man on the bed, who suddenly makes a weird keening noise, shaking and tugging at his restraints.

“Stop making such a racket, I’ve got a guest over,” Trip admonishes as he sets the carrier by the main door.

“What the – let go of my arms!” His voice sounds a bit raspy, like he’s done this crying for help thing quite often, and Virus raises an eyebrow at Trip.

“What? Don’t look at me like that – he’s just chillin’.” 

His screams of protest beg to differ and Virus steps out of the room when the noise gets too irritating.

He looks at Trip. “Can you not … shut him up?”

“Good idea! Here, gag him with this.” Trip hands him a ball gag he produces from mid air and Virus nearly bursts into laughter at the bizarreness of the whole situation.

But he takes the gag anyway, walking towards the still-struggling figure on the bed and adopting a clinical tone as he tries to stop Aoba from biting him as he secures the gag.

“Please don’t struggle; you’re making my job harder.”

The man spits and hisses like an angry cat, flinching away from the plastic gag. “Don’t –”

Virus has to hold his head down to wrangle the thing into his mouth and then tie it up, fingers fisted in his blue hair. The man lets out a muffled noise and tries to elbow him and Virus quickly steps away, wiping his hands down on the bedsheets and turning around to see Trip nodding in satisfaction.

“Haha – thanks for that; saved me a job.”

“Why are you keeping him here? He’s like a rabid animal.”

Trip’s eyes widen. “Rabid? No, he’s cool. Keeps me company.”

He pauses for a millisecond before remembering his kitty. “Ah! Help me get Welty into her cage.” 

The strange name is by far the least weirdest thing Virus has encountered so far, and he passively surveys the sight of Trip coaxing the cat into getting off the sofa and dragging itself nearer to the carrier. It’s a slow process, and he doesn’t even know if he’s needed here. His mice are sitting in a puddle of condensation by the door.

“Wait a minute – is she going to fit?”

“Yeah, see, that’s why you gotta help.” ‘Welty’ is now a step away from the open carrier door, the same grumpy expression on her face as she’s nudged towards the box by Trip’s hands.

“Go on~ Kitty kitty kitty.”

She looks about the same size as the carrier, but then Virus watches in amazement as she somehow shrinks through the door and settles inside. Maybe the cat had been ninety percent fur. 

“Well, you’ve got your cat sorted; can I leave now?”

Trip whips his head around. “Wha –? Aw fine, I guess. Me and Aoba and lil kitty here will miss you.”

Virus doesn’t deign that with a response before hauling his mice off the floor and leaving the flat.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading pal


End file.
